


the colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky

by LittlebutFiery



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Colors, F/M, Fluff, Mentions of canon violence, Non-Chronological Order, Royai Week, Royai Week 2018, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 15:24:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14917895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlebutFiery/pseuds/LittlebutFiery
Summary: Vibrancy – (n) striking brightness of color





	the colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is about...2500 words longer than I intended, oops. I hope you enjoy this contribution to Royai Week 2k18!  
> I spent literally the entire day writing this and my brain is fried all to hell so please forgive any mistakes.

**_Red_ **

Time seemed to all but freeze as both Hawkeye and Mustang struggled futilely against their captors. Mustang’s heart pounded – this situation was _his_ fault, Hawkeye was in danger because of _him…_

The slice of a blade, a pained cry, and a spatter of scarlet blood on the floor, and Mustang’s racing heart stopped.

It couldn’t end like this. It just couldn’t…not…not like this.

Hawkeye fell in slow motion, a shower of crimson drops following her to the ground. She clutched weakly at her throat, a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding, but all it did was stain her hands with her own blood.

Mustang’s stomach heaved. He knew there was blood on his hands, and plenty of it. Hawkeye had always viewed herself the same way, blamed herself for the countless deaths in Ishval, said her hands were stained just as his.

He had never allowed her to place that blame on herself, knew that her hands were far cleaner than his. And now they were truly bloodstained, turned crimson with her own precious lifeblood.

Mustang felt rather than heard his howl of pain, all his senses numbed with grief as he flailed and fought his captors. They maintained their grip on him, forcing him back down to his knees as he cried out for his adjutant.

Scarlet blood pooled around Hawkeye, her face growing paler as the pool grew larger. She wouldn’t last much longer, Mustang knew that.

His eyes flickered between his lieutenant and the gold-toothed doctor, who was waving a philosopher’s stone, taunting Mustang. Hawkeye’s eyes met his, fear and anguish in them, as she feebly shook her head.

Even near death, she was his faithful queen, putting the mission above all else, even herself.

He didn’t deserve her, didn’t come close, and now she was going to die because of him.

Mustang closed his eyes, holding back tears. The sight of Hawkeye collapsed on the floor, covered in her own blood, was burned into his eyes – all he could see was red.

He’d always associated red with the flames of his alchemy, the power that would take him to the top.

Now he saw it the way the Ishvalans he’d killed in the war did.

Red was the color of death.

 

**_Orange_ **

Mustang emerged from the mess hall tent, two tarnished mugs of coffee in his hands. The sun was setting in Ishval, bathing the sands with fiery light.

Hawkeye was sitting on a heavy metal trunk, quiet as she took in the peaceful sunset. She looked like something from a painting, Mustang mused. Her blonde hair was lit up golden orange by the dying light, the shadows and exhaustion banished from her face for just a fleeting moment. Her white cloak was as orange as the sun, covered as it was with Ishvalan sand and dust.

“If you stay out here too long, you’ll catch cold,” Mustang said, walking towards her.

Hawkeye jumped, startled, before relaxing when she recognized him. “Good evening, Major. You startled me.”

Mustang laughed. “My apologies, Sergeant. I thought you could use some coffee.”

She accepted the mug with a small smile. “Thank you, sir.”

He sat down next to her, gazing out over the sand dunes with her. They were quiet a long time, enjoying each other’s silent company, before Mustang asked, “Are you doing all right?”

Hawkeye nodded, taking a long drink from her coffee. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Mustang glanced over at her, saw that the shadows had returned to her eyes, and said softly, “You’ve never been a particularly good liar, Riza.”

She turned to meet his gaze, smiling sadly. “You know me so well.”

“What’s wrong?” Mustang asked.

Hawkeye was quiet for a long time, staring down at her drink. Finally she asked, “Is what we’re doing right, sir?”

When Mustang looked puzzled, she clarified, “Here, in Ishval. It’s…getting hard to believe that we’re the good guys.”

“We’re not,” Mustang shook his head. “Not right now.”

Hawkeye nodded, continuing to contemplate her coffee. Mustang continued, “But I’m going to make it right. Would you like to help?”

This made her look up, surprised. “Sir?”

“I’m going to become Fuhrer, and I’m going to do what I can to make it right. But I can’t do it alone. Will you help me, Sergeant?” Mustang said.

She nodded again, a resolute determination in her amber eyes. “Yes, sir. I’d follow you into hell if you asked.”

Mustang smiled. Behind Hawkeye’s head, the sun had sunk low enough to frame her head like a fiery halo, nearly blinding him with bright light.

How appropriate – a halo of orange fire for the Flame Alchemist’s guardian angel.

 

**_Yellow_ **

It was a beautiful spring night in Central, and Mustang was enjoying an evening out of the office. He’d even convinced the others to take the night off. Well, Havoc and Breda hadn’t needed much convincing, but Fuery and Falman had put up some resistance, and he’d argued with Hawkeye for almost an hour before she reluctantly promised to get some rest.

“What’s on your mind, Roy?”

The feminine voice drew him out of his idle musings and back to reality. His date was pouting at him over her glass of wine, looking mildly offended at being ignored.

Mustang laughed, picking up his own glass. “I’m sorry, Madeleine. I’m being terribly rude, aren’t I?”

She giggled. “That’s nothing new.”

He scowled at her – she had clearly been working for his aunt too long, picking up her bad habits. She giggled again.

“I try to be chivalrous and take my favorite ‘sister’ out to dinner, and this is the thanks I get!” Mustang huffed.

“I’m sure we’re all your favorite,” Madeline teased, picking up her fork and stealing a bite of Mustang’s dinner. “Isn’t that right?”

Mustang was about to grumble a retort when a flash of gold across the street caught his eye. He turned to look at it, and his whole world changed.

Hawkeye was standing on the opposite sidewalk, some shopping bags on her arms. Beside her was her best friend Rebecca, also laden with a number of bags. That wasn’t unusual – they had been friends since they were cadets at the academy, and Rebecca loved shopping almost as much as she loved men, often dragging Hawkeye with her.

He’d even seen Hawkeye in civilian clothes, more than once, at various functions and on a number of missions.

But he’d never before seen her with her long hair down.

It would have taken a blind man to not realize Hawkeye was beautiful – Mustang had grown up with her, watched her grow from a child to a teenager to a woman, and knew just how beautiful she truly was.

Her short hair had been cute, had fit her at the time, but now…now, she was stunning. Golden hair fell to her shoulders in soft waves, practically glowing in the lamplight of the streets.

She looked like a goddess.

Thankfully, Hawkeye didn’t notice him gawking at her across the street as she laughed and talked with Rebecca.

The pair vanished into the crowd as they made their way down the street, and Mustang finally returned to reality.

Madeleine was regarding him curiously, taking a long drink from her wine. “Well, I take it back.”

“What?” he asked dumbly.

“I don’t think any of us are your favorites anymore, Roy-boy,” she chuckled. “Not when you’re that madly in love.”

 

**_Green_ **

Mustang nervously switched from foot to foot as he waited for someone to answer the door. He was excited to learn alchemy, he truly was, but this Master Hawkeye’s mansion was imposing, and the villagers had eyed him strangely when he asked for directions to it.

Finally, the door swung open, revealing a tall, gaunt man with wildly unkempt hair. He scowled, “We don’t take visitors,” and began to slam the door in Mustang’s face.

Somehow, Mustang got his nerves together, jamming his foot in the way so the door couldn’t close. He said, “Sir, my name’s Roy Mustang. Master Hawkeye agreed to take me on as his apprentice.”

A pause, and then the door opened again. The man regarded Mustang for a moment before grumbling, “So I did. Come in.”

Mustang picked up his suitcase, bulging with all of the meager possessions he owned, and trotted after Master Hawkeye before he could change his mind.

“Your room will be over there,” Master Hawkeye said, pointing at a closed door just off the kitchen. “When you’re not studying, I expect you to help Riza with the household chores.”

“Riza?” Mustang asked.

“My daughter. I suppose I should introduce you,” Master Hawkeye sighed. He waited for Mustang to put the suitcase in his room – a room full of junk and massive piles of books – before leading the way through the house to a back garden.

Master Hawkeye opened the door to the garden, calling, “Riza!”

A clarion voice called back, “Yes, Father?”

“I’ve someone I want you to meet,” Master Hawkeye replied.

There was a brief pause before someone small came around the corner, a massive green potted plant in their hands. Master Hawkeye scowled, “Put that ridiculous thing down, Riza.”

She obeyed, straightening back up and offering Mustang a big smile. The girl was young, several years younger than he was – her smile was gap-toothed, one of her front teeth missing.

Mustang smiled back, drawn in by the girl’s aura. She seemed much friendlier than her father, more vivacious and warm. Hardworking, too – dirt and grass were smudged all over her overalls and a large green streak ran down her cheek.

“Hi! I’m Riza,” she said, offering a dirty hand to shake.

Master Hawkeye scowled again. “You’re filthy. Where are your manners?”

She wilted under his glare, so Mustang walked closer to her, pulling her into a hug and saying cheerfully, “No worries. I grew up in a bar – you’re spotless compared to that!”

She beamed up at him, hugging him back tightly. Mustang vowed he’d see that smile again while he lived with the Hawkeyes, even if Master Hawkeye was currently glaring at him too.

Riza Hawkeye picked up her plant and returned to gardening, while Master Hawkeye headed back inside.

Mustang looked down and realized that his nicest suit was now covered in grass stains as well. He laughed – she was already rubbing off on him.

 

**_Blue_ **

“Ready to meet your team, Roy?” Hughes asked, an arm around Mustang’s shoulders as they walked towards the small inprocessing center near the train station.

“I wish they’d given me their dossiers beforehand,” Mustang scowled instead. “I don’t know _anything_ about these men. I don’t like working with people I can’t trust.”

“Well, maybe you’ll get lucky,” Hughes waved him off. “There’s bound to be a few good ones out there.”

Mustang grumbled in reluctant agreement, kicking a small rock down the street. Hughes stifled a laugh at his friend’s gruffness, insisting again, “You’ve proven yourself well enough, Roy. They aren’t going to give you a lousy team.”

Mustang gave him a skeptical look as he pushed open the door to the inprocessing center. The desk sergeant greeted cheerfully, “Major Mustang! Captain Hughes! Good to see you!”

“I’ve been told I’ve been assigned a team? Their report date is today,” Mustang replied.

“Oh, yes!” the woman replied. “Down the hall, conference room two.”

Mustang nodded in thanks, pulling Hughes along down the hall. It only took a minute to find conference room two; Mustang sighed again before throwing open the door.

Inside could only be described as chaos.

Two men were loudly arguing and struggling over a metal flask, colorful language filling the air. One was stick-thin, an ashy cigarette hanging from his lips, while the other was short and stocky – though neither seemed to have gained the upper hand. A third man, taller than the smoker, was pleading with the pair to stop fighting.

Mustang cast an “I-told-you-so” glance at Hughes, who was desperately trying to contain his laughter, before bellowing, “Soldiers! Explain yourselves!”

The tall soldier immediately snapped to attention, quaking in fear. The two fighting men froze before the smoker ripped the flask from the other man’s hands, tucked it into his pocket, and then saluted. The brawny man followed suit.

“What the absolute hell do you think you’re doing?” Mustang roared, fists clenched in anger. “You are _soldiers_ of the _Amestrian military!_ You are under _my_ command! And you’re acting like _children!_ Who is the commander that allowed you to behave like this?”

“That would be me, sir,” a cool voice behind Mustang replied.

Mustang whirled around, ready to tear the speaker a new one, before recognition stopped him dead.

“Riza?” he whispered.

“It’s Sergeant Hawkeye, now,” she replied, saluting. “I take it I’m under your command, sir?”

Mustang had no words as he looked Hawkeye up and down. She’d always looked beautiful in blue, but seeing her here, in the royal blue of the Amestrian uniform, was a shock his brain couldn’t seem to process.

He’d eagerly signed himself up for this life of gunpowder and jackboots and death, but he’d desperately wanted to protect her from it.

He felt faintly sick.

“Sir?” Hawkeye repeated, concern in her eyes.

“Yes, Sergeant, that is correct,” Mustang choked out, willing his voice to have some kind of authority. “If you and…these men…will come with me, I’ll debrief you.”

With this, he turned and began to walk away, wishing that the days he’d see Hawkeye in royal blue would be numbered.

 

**_Purple_ **

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it, Elizabeth?” Mustang asked, taking a drink of his whiskey.

“It is indeed,” Hawkeye replied, smiling back over her wineglass.

Her eyes only stayed fixed on Mustang for a moment before focusing on something behind him. She frowned, setting down the glass and starting to rise to follow their mark.

Mustang put a hand on hers, shaking his head. She started to protest, “But, _sir_ …”

“Ah-ah, we’re out in public, _Elizabeth_ ,” Mustang scolded playfully. Hawkeye scowled but sat back down, though she looked anxious.

Mustang leaned forward and whispered, “The black car that’s parked across the street? Fuery and Havoc are there, ready to follow the mark.”

Hawkeye looked puzzled. “But it’s _our_ mark.”

“Can’t I be selfish enough to want a quiet evening out with my dear Elizabeth?” Mustang replied with a smirk. “We so rarely get to see each other.”

She huffed. “ _Sir_ …”

He laughed again. “Elizabeth! Save the pet names for the bedroom, shall we?”

She smacked his hand, still on hers, and his laugh only got louder. Hawkeye growled, “ _Roy_ , you’re being unprofessional and crass. And stupid! We’re really leaving this entire mission to Fuery and Havoc?”

“I trust them with my life, and yours. Shouldn’t we trust them in this?” Mustang replied, suddenly serious.

Hawkeye, unable to find a good retort, picked up her wineglass and quickly finished it. After a long time, still wrestling with her inner perfectionist, she finally conceded, “It _would_ be nice to finish a dinner for once.”

Mustang smiled. “Another glass of wine?”

“If you insist,” Hawkeye agreed.

Mustang flagged down their waiter and procured more drinks while Hawkeye finally let her guard down, smiling for the first time that evening.

One more glass turned into two, then three, before Mustang finally pulled out his pocketwatch. “It’s almost midnight, Elizabeth, my dear. I think it’s time to cut you off and get you home.”

Hawkeye whined in protest, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, while Mustang paid for their meal. He helped her stand, eyes widening with concern when he put a hand on her arm. “You’re freezing. Why didn’t you say anything?”

She waved him off, wobbling heavily. “I’m not cold.”

He sighed, shedding his jacket and draping it over her shoulders. “Come on, darling. Let’s get you home. Good thing you only live a few blocks away, hmm?”

Hawkeye did her best to rest her head on his shoulder as they walked towards her apartment, his arm around her, holding her close. She hiccupped, “You smell good. Sir.”

Mustang rolled his eyes. “What did I say about pet names?”

She simply hiccupped again.

Mustang sighed. It had been a long time since he’d seen his adjutant in this state, and Havoc and Rebecca had been there to take care of her. In some ways, he’d rather they were the ones here tonight.

He trusted himself, of course – he’d never take advantage of her, not a chance. But the way Hawkeye clung to him, the innocent words she was saying…it hurt to know that the only times he’d have this closeness with her was in his dreams or when she was drunk.

And god, she was beautiful. Even in this state, her hair mussed, her lipstick smudged, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her purple dress clung to her lean frame in all the right places, accenting her curves with drapes of violet.

They arrived at her apartment with blessed quickness, before Mustang’s thoughts could become any more melancholy. He all but carried her up the stairs, helping her rifle through her purse for her keys.

Hawkeye smiled up at him, putting her arms around his neck. “Thank you for tonight…Roy.”

“My pleasure,” Mustang replied simply, moving to unlock her door.

“I wish we could do this more often,” she went on. “Without all this pretending.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Mustang laughed a little, nervous.

“And the boys think _I_ think too much,” Hawkeye shook her head.

Before Mustang could protest any more, she leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. With this, she headed inside her apartment, the short train of her dress following her like a cloak as she vanished.

Mustang stood there in a shock a moment, hand pressed to his cheek. In the shiny metal of the doorknocker, he could clearly see the outline of Hawkeye’s lips, impressed in red-purple lipstick on his cheek.

Purple, the color of royalty. What an appropriate gesture from a queen to her king.

Mustang didn’t have the heart to wash off the mark until the next morning.

 

**_Black_ **

Mustang clawed at his face, chest tight with fear. Was he blindfolded? Were the lights off?

Why couldn’t he see?

“Lieutenant,” he cried, voice strangled. He reached out desperately for his faithful adjutant, needing something to cling to. He felt lost, alone, tossed about in a stormy sea.

He was terrified.

“I’m here, sir,” her soft voice said, rough from pain and her injury, as she placed a gentle hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I can’t see,” he managed, starting to shake. “Why can’t I see?”

“Sir?” Hawkeye sounded alarmed as well.

He tried to speak but couldn’t, throat too tight with fear. She went on desperately, “It’ll be okay, sir. I promise. We’ll…we’ll…we’ll figure it out. I don’t care what it takes, we’ll make it okay.”

“Some things…can’t be fixed,” Mustang practically whimpered, still clutching at his face as though that could do something. “I…”

Hawkeye pulled him into a forceful embrace. Her shoulder was still wet with blood, bringing tears to Mustang’s eyes. He cried, “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

“Don’t ever apologize, sir,” Hawkeye said fiercely, her own tears falling onto Mustang’s shoulder. “Not to me. Not ever.”

He held her tight, desperately wishing he had spent more time memorizing her features, her smile, the way the corners of her eyes crinkled when she offered one of her rare laughs.

His heart stopped when he realized he’d never see any of that again. None of the life, the beauty, the vibrancy he associated with Riza Hawkeye. He’d always associated her with every color of the rainbow.

Now, all he had was black.

No more red, be it the roses he bought and never gave her, or her lipstick for undercover dinners, or her blood staining the ground he could no longer see.

No more yellow, be it the sunflowers she kept in her kitchen, or her golden hair, or the stripe on her epaulets as she climbed the ranks alongside him.

No more orange, be it the Ishvalan sunset, or the shopping bags from her favorite store, or the packaging for the tea she made for him every morning.

No more green, be it the apples they shared at lunch, or the park where they often walked Black Hayate, or the plants she’d grown as a child.

No more blue, be it her favorite mug, or her always-perfect uniform, or the river they swam in as children.

No more purple, be it her favorite dress, or the wine she preferred, or the set of alchemy textbooks she’d helped him study in his youth.

No, there was no more color to be had in Mustang’s life.

Only darkness.

 

**_White_ **

“Ready, sir?” Havoc asked, straightening Mustang’s tie for probably the fifth time.

“I’ve been ready for this moment for…oh, fifteen years?” Mustang replied, amused. He swatted Havoc’s trembling hands from his tie. “My tie is perfectly fine, Lieutenant. Leave it alone.”

“You won’t let me smoke. I’ve gotta do something with my hands,” Havoc whined.

Music began to play and Havoc stiffened, scrambling to return to his post at Mustang’s side. The rest of the team was in their positions as well, faithfully by their commander’s side, as always.

A few of Hawkeye’s friends made their way to where the men stood. The women looked lovely in their flowing dresses, bouquets of roses and lavender in their hands.

The music changed, and an angel appeared before them, resplendent in a beautiful white gown. She held a similar bouquet to the other women, though larger, and a fine white veil covered her face.

Mustang felt his eyes water as he took in the incomparable, indescribable sight of his bride. Havoc elbowed him and handed him a handkerchief, which he accepted without tearing his eyes from Hawkeye as she made her way down the aisle, Rebecca carrying the train of her dress.

In a thousand years, he had never dreamt he’d see this moment. It seemed they’d had to conquer countless obstacles to arrive here – the war, their crusade for justice, his determination to be Fuhrer, their relationship as commander and adjutant, her injury, his blindness.

He would move heaven and earth for Hawkeye, and she would do the same for him, and somehow, some way, together they’d shifted the cosmos just enough to give them the happiness they’d craved for years.

Mustang knew he didn’t deserve this, but he’d be damned if he didn’t accept it.

Riza finally arrived at the altar, placing her hands in his and offering that beautiful smile that had once been so rare.

He looked down at their interlocked hands and couldn’t help but smile as well. They’d both said before that they had the hands of a killer, hands drenched in blood. But now, for the first time in years, he could no longer see his hands as those of a murderer.

Now, he saw them as those of a lover, a husband, and, maybe someday, a father. He prayed Hawkeye saw hers the same way.

Mustang looked into her eyes again, those fathomless amber eyes that he loved so much, full of vibrancy and love, hidden behind a white veil.

He decided that of all the brilliant colors of the rainbow, white may be his favorite of all.


End file.
